


Everyday Torture

by StoriesOfImagination



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, But his friends have his back, Canon-Typical Violence, Dental Surgery gone wrong, Dentist, Gen, Mac needs therapy like wow, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:01:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29114178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StoriesOfImagination/pseuds/StoriesOfImagination
Summary: Mac has a broken tooth and has to go to the dentist. But his anxiety and PTSD turn an easy fix into a living nightmare.
Relationships: Jack Dalton & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016), Riley Davis & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016), Wilt Bozer & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 38





	Everyday Torture

Bright sunshine filtered through the bedroom blinds at the perfectly imperfect angle to get into Mac’s eyes and wake him before his alarm had sounded. He grunted in annoyance and turned onto his side, away from the window and tried to sink back into sleep.

It didn’t work.

He grumbled some more and tried hiding under the pillows.

His alarm sounded.

“Uggh,  _ fine _ , I’m up,” he snapped at his alarm. 

Coffee did nothing to dispel his sour mood, and only when he checked his calendar for the day did he remember why. 

He had a dentist appointment to fix a chipped tooth.

_ Dammit _ .

It had been damaged a couple of weeks ago on a mission when a terrorist had hit him full in the face with the butt of an automatic rifle. He gained only a small amount of comfort from the knowledge that by the time Jack was done with him, the terrorist’s face had been far more bloody than his own.

Going to the dentist was one of those things that Capable Adults did - like paying taxes and mowing the lawn. It sucked.

A couple years ago he’d had a bad experience with the dentist - or rather with his own teeth. A cavity had been ignored for about 10 months too many and by the time he let Bozer nag him into going, it had escalated into needing some serious drilling and a crown.

It wasn’t pleasant, but his dentist was excellent and Mac got through the appointments no problem.

Or so he had thought. 

Mac poured himself some cereal, knowing he might not feel up to eating after his appointment. While he picked at it listlessly his mind stubbornly gravitated towards the memory.

Seven months after getting his crown, he had been on an op in the middle of a jungle - sweating, stinking, and thoroughly miserable along with an equally unhappy Jack. 

Mac had begun to get the sneaking suspicion that the throbbing in his jaw was perhaps not something which he could ignore into going away.

He caught Jack staring at him in an odd way and then he asked if Mac had been stung by a bee or something. 

Turned out his face was swelling at an inconvenient rate.

One hastily wrapped-up mission and exfil later and he was back in the dentist’s chair. Then it was a round of antibiotics and a root canal.

Mac dropped his cereal bowl into the sink with a clatter. An uneasy feeling was worming its way under his skin. Pulling on his sneakers, he took off for a jog like he was being chased.

But the problem with running sometimes was that it gave him too much time to think.

He thought about the week following his root canal. About feeling increasingly miserable, about the sores in his mouth and the throbbing along his gums. 

Mac remembered being unable to eat and just barely tolerating protein drinks until Jack had dragged him back to the dentist. 

They discovered yet another infection. This one was caused by a reaction to something used in his root canal. The dentist had been very sympathetic, made a note in his file, and prescribed a new round of antibiotics.

However, this time the antibiotics he was given brought him out in head-to-toe hives - a truly miserable (but not fatal) way to discover an allergy.

Standing under the hot water of his shower, lathering his body with soap, he remembered pouring camomile lotion over every inch of his body. It had been the middle of summer and the heat had made the itching unbearable. He had resorted to taking large doses of Benadryl and lying naked on his bed with three different fans positioned to keep him as comfortable as possible.

It had been a thoroughly miserable experience.

It was just bad luck and circumstance. No-one’s fault per say. But it left him with a pit in his stomach every time he had to go for anything more than a cleaning.

By the time Mac found himself in the dentist’s waiting room, anxiety was swirling through his veins. Mac breathed slow, deep, and careful, trying to tamp it down.

Telling himself to  _ chill the fuck out  _ was a pale response to the gnawing refrain of “I’ve got a bad feeling about this” which cycled through each Star Wars character quoting it in his brain.

When he was called back into the examination room he was almost grateful for the external stimuli of making small talk with the dental assistant about the Lakers and trying to focus on the trees outside the window.

Mac resolutely avoided looking towards the trays of tools and rows of drills and tubing.

But it didn’t mean he wasn’t aware of them. 

This was the problem with being a government operative - you were trained to see  _ everything _ , be aware of  _ everything _ , have contingencies for any and all outcomes. It made normal life hard some days.

The dentist came in, greeting him in his friendly, professional manner, asking about his pain levels.

Mac’s heart thundered, even as he tried to affect a matter-of-fact tone with his concocted story about getting hit in the face with a hockey stick.

His dentist tutted and ooohed in sympathy at all the right places, but it wasn’t enough to quell his swirling dread.

“Hmmm, yes, unfortunately this is very badly damaged,” said Dr Penzey. “We’ll have to remove this part that is splintering and put on a crown.”

Mac felt his anxiety grip hold of him as though there were cold hands squeezing his heart and lungs. Buzzing filled his ears even as he murmured some kind of understanding and agreement to what the dentist was proposing.

Worse still he could feel tears welling up in his eyes.

Closing his eyes against his spiraling - and downright traitorous - emotions, he concentrated on breathing carefully and deliberately.

Dr. Penzey painted some numbing gel on his gum with a q-tip, the smell and taste sickeningly familiar. When the syringe came into view, Mac looked up at the ceiling tiles. 

“Just a little pinch.” The dentist held Mac’s lip and cheek out of the way and positioned the syringe, then he shook his cheek roughly to distract the nerves from the pain of the needle and novocaine going into Mac’s gum.

Mac tried not to notice, tried not to fixate on the sensations, tried to find constellations in the texture of the ceiling tiles.

“All done,” said Dr. Penzey, and he stepped away for a few minutes while it took effect. 

Mac pulled his phone out of his jeans pocket and sent a selfie to Jack:

_ Looks like that asshole got the last laugh - got to get a crown :( _

His hands were shaking badly. Shoving his phone roughly back in his pocket, he tried to think of the many times he had rescued people and cheated death in far worse situations.

It didn’t help.

Dr. Penzey returned and said “Let’s see if this is ready.” Then pausing when he saw Mac’s pallor, he added, “Are you okay?”

“Mmhmm,” Mac attempted a smile and nod.

Unconvinced, Dr. Penzey poked at Mac’s gum line, checking for sensation. Satisfied that the novocaine had done its job, he got to work.

The suction tube was a problem from the start.

Mac wasn’t really sure where it was supposed to sit in his mouth, but it seemed to be trying to suction his cheek rather than his spit. 

He kept trying to maneuver it subtly with his tongue until the dentist, exasperated, asked him to please leave it alone.

And then it all went to hell.

There was all the usual drilling and grinding, rinsing and suctioning. The smell of burning in his nostrils and the relief he couldn’t feel a damn thing.

All Mac knew was that one minute they were power-washing his tooth, and the next minute he was drowning.

~~~

_ “What do you know about the bomb?” _

_ Heat. _

_ Humidity. _

_ The smells of stale sweat, tobacco, and damp rock. _

_ Wrists burning and tied taut to the chair.  _

_ A blindfold ensuring that he couldn’t see the next blow, the next source of pain before it landed. _

_ And then the water.  _

_ Hosed down until he shivers. And container after container poured over his face, down his throat.  _

_ Trying to shove down the panic and think logically. Trying to remember his training. _

_ Trying to survive from one moment to the next. _

_ Choking. _

_ Drowning. _

_ Dying and being brought back so they can start all over again. _

_ “Tell us about the bomb.” _

_ A blow to the face. _

_ “Who do you work for?” _

_ Two blows to his ribs with a sickening cracking sound. _

_ Cloth pulled over his face; head forced backwards; water pouring, pouring, pouring. _

_ Hours, days, weeks, he doesn’t know how long it lasts. _

_ It’s just… breathe - water - spit - breathe - choke - water - pain - questions he can’t answer. _

_ For far too long. _

_ Until someone makes a mistake and leaves a tool on a table far too close to him. Until the logic center of his brain overrides his terror and takes control.  _

_ Until he takes the tool, gets free from his bonds and attacks. _

_ Screaming. Gunfire.  _

_ His eyes blurred from lack of use. _

_ Screaming. Is that him or them?  _

_ Mac doesn’t know. But he wants to live. To escape. _

_ He lashes out at the figures before him. Can’t focus well. But remembers Jack’s advice that if you throw enough punches, sooner or later you’ll hit somebody. _

_ Jack. _

_ He can almost hear him. Telling him to cough up the water and just breathe. _

_ He misses him so much it’s like a physical pain. _

_ Like a blow to the head. _

~~~

Mac woke up at the Phoenix. He recognized the medical ward, but the restraints were a new development.

Jack was sitting in a chair next to him, texting, like it was the most normal thing in the world for them to be there.

Looking up from his phone, Jack gave him a lopsided smile. 

“How ya doin’ there, buddy?”

Mac tried to form words, but his mouth was dry as the Sahara and only a croak came out.

Grabbing a glass of water and a straw, Jack held them up to Mac’s mouth. While Mac sipped the water tentatively, Jack rattled on.

“Had yourself a time of it at the dentist today, huh?”

Frowning now, Mac tried to make sense of why he was here. “What’s going on, Jack?” he rasped. He had a horrible feeling he was in trouble but couldn’t remember why.

“Best we can figure it,” Jack said, running a hand over his buzz cut, “is you had some kind of PTSD episode in the chair. Thought you were being tortured. You grabbed the drill and--” Jack paused, looking uncomfortable, “--well, you thought you were defending yourself.”

Mac felt the bottom fall out of his world. “What did I do? Are they.. is anyone…?”

“It’s alright, Mac.” Jack laid a hand on Mac’s arm, stilling him. “I came to see if you wanted to try out your new tooth at the diner and found the place in chaos. Managed to knock you out and call for backup. People were scared and a little banged up, but nothing too serious.”

Closing his eyes and hanging his head, Mac couldn’t bear to look Jack in the eye. “What did I do?” His voice was barely a whisper.

Emotions flitted over Jack’s face as he tried to choose his words. Choose which truths to tell.

“You stabbed the dentist in the gut with his own drill.Then you used the crane light thing to knock out the dental assistant. The rest of the damage was you trying to use whatever tools you could find to smash through the window. I think you were trying to escape.”

“Are they…” Mac couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence.

“They’re ok.” Jack reassured him. “Scared and angry. I explained as best I could and then Matty smoothed things over. They are all patched up and the Phoenix crew already fixed the office as good as new.”

Mac let out a shaky breath. Scared at his own violence. Terrified that he could have killed somebody.

“They’re gonna be okay,Mac,” Jack said, looking steadily into his eyes. “Matty will get them all the medical help they need - counseling, all that good stuff.” He took a big breath and sat up a little straighter. “Speaking of - you’re on leave for a couple weeks starting now. You’ve got a PTSD counselor waiting on your call.”

“Jack--” Mac shook his head in protest.

“Mac.” Jack said sharply, immediately getting his attention. “You got lucky today--  _ we  _ got lucky today. Take it from someone who knows. You’ve gotta deal with this stuff before it eats you alive. Or next time…” Jack rubbed a hand over his tired face. “Well we don’t want that.”

Jack began removing the soft restraints velcroed at his wrists and ankles. “Now, if you’re up to it, Bozer and Riley are pacing a groove in the hallway waiting to see you. You scared the crap out of us, buddy.”

Mac rubbed his wrists, noting the lack of damage and bruising. It had seemed so real. He really thought he was back there.

“It was Baghdad,” he said softly, still looking at his hands, noting the cuts and scrapes from the damage he inflicted today.

“I wondered,” said Jack thoughtfully. 

“The water pick… I choked and… I was there again.” Mac looked up at Jack, tears falling freely, trying to wash away the lump in his throat and the rock in his stomach. “I thought I was there. It was so real.”

Pulling him into a comforting hug, Jack sighed. “You know, bud? PTSD is like one of those tricky bombs the Ghost kept setting - pressure switches and booby traps. Yours went kaboom today. That’s all it was - a bad bomb day. This PTSD guy? He’s gonna teach you how to disarm it. You’re going back to EOD camp that’s all. You’re the smartest guy I know and you  _ will  _ figure this out. I promise.”

“Thank you,” Mac sniffed and wiped his wet cheeks with his medical gown.

Handing him a box of tissues and taking one for himself, Jack said, “Any time, Mac. Now what do you say we let these guys in before Bozer builds a robot to crawl through the vents like McClane to check on you?” 

Mac squinted at him, “Does that make me Hans?”

“Hell no! You’re Holly!”

“Are you saying I need rescuing?

“No more than usual, Hoss.”

They bickered back and forth while Jack ushered in Bozer and Riley. 

Mac didn’t miss the assessing looks they raked over him, or the raised eyebrows asking silent questions of Jack. He was grateful they kept the conversation light. He felt bruised emotionally and so very weary. 

This life could demand a heavy payment in the harshest and most unexpected ways. It was never his intention that those around him would pay for his decisions, his mistakes. Especially innocent people. 

He felt a hand squeeze his. Riley. She always had faith in him, even when he had none himself.

She met his unsure gaze with a rock-steady one of her own. “This wasn’t your fault, Mac. It happened to you as much as it happened to them.”

“She’s right, Mac,” Bozer chimed in. “This wasn’t you, it was more like Dreamcatcher when that alien takes over Jonesy.”

“Really, Boze?” Riley rolled her eyes.

“What?” Bozer protested. “It was a total alien takeover moment, but trauma is the thing that’s burrowed deep and not the alien wormy thing--”

“Dude! Stoppit! So gross!” Riley objected loud enough that a nurse came to check on them.

As screwed up as he knew he was, Mac also knew he would be okay if the people who knew him best didn’t shy away from him. It might be some time before he would trust himself well enough to have their backs in the field again. But knowing that they would have his in the meantime gave him no small sense of peace.

The warm amber light from the setting sun painted their faces as they teased and bickered with each other. Mac closed his eyes knowing they would watch over him. They would keep him safe and keep those around him safe too. 

He couldn’t trust himself, but he could trust them.

And until he learned how to disarm this new bomb, it would be enough. 


End file.
